


Belonging

by LadyKes



Series: Different Perspectives [5]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Episode: s03e03 Murder and Mozzarella, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6573046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKes/pseuds/LadyKes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was going through Jack's mind during the last scene in Strano's?   Spoilers for Murder and Mozzarella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belonging

If he had been questioned later, Jack wasn’t sure he could have told anyone how he got from Strano’s to St. Kilda. Normally he’d be concerned about that level of distraction since he could have been a hazard on the road, but so much else had happened that night that it seemed like a minor detail.

He’d never been a ladies’ man, not when he was younger and certainly not now, so Concetta’s honest and heartfelt admission a few days ago had utterly flabbergasted him. He hadn’t known what to say or where to look or how to act. He wouldn’t have even considered the idea that she’d be willing to give up everything from her family to her faith to marry him. And he couldn’t ask anyone about it, either. Even if he had been willing to betray Concetta’s confidence like that by talking about her, which he wasn’t, there was no one he could have talked to. 

Phryne had known something was on his mind. Of course she had. He could see it in the appraising glances she gave him after that night. But they’d got caught up, justifiably, in solving the case, and she hadn’t pushed him to explain. He did think she might be jealous of Concetta, which gave him hope that his feelings for her might not be quite as unreciprocated as he’d once been convinced they were. He’d even gone so far as to try to be slightly coy about the nature of his friendship with Concetta, though he didn’t think it had worked all that well. 

Tonight he’d gone to Strano’s to tell Concetta the latest details on her brother’s situation. The restaurant was closed and her father hadn’t been there, which Jack hadn’t been too sad to see. For all that Papa Antonio had been able to say that he hadn’t been involved directly in the latest incidents, no one in either family had truly clean hands. Not even Concetta, possibly, since she knew more about her husband’s business than she had originally said she had.

She’d greeted him at the door with the same warmth as always, a warmth that he could see now as something more than he’d originally thought it to be. Her dress was beautiful tonight, too. When he told her so, she blushed charmingly before taking his coat and hat, showing him to “his” table, and pouring the wine. They spoke of the case and easy pleasantries for a few minutes, then she seemed to take a deep breath before asking him about what they were both thinking.

“Have you thought about it, Gianni, what I am offering to you?”

“I’ve thought of nothing else,” he answered honestly. Even when he was interrogating her brother or signing the paperwork on Marianna, there had always been the smallest part of him that was considering Concetta’s statement - her offer. He went back and forth on whether he could accept it, whether he should accept it. One moment he would be sure that he and Concetta, whom he’d always thought of as an attractive, intelligent, caring woman, would be able to overcome the obstacles placed in their path. He’d consider the idea of coming home to her after a long day and maybe a long night of work. His house would be welcoming with her in it. She’d fill his life and his heart with laughter again.

But in the next moment, he’d know it would never work. He’d know that her family and his work would never align, that she was Catholic and marrying a divorced man would be nearly unthinkable, and that he couldn’t - wouldn’t - offer her second best. She deserved the best, and he couldn’t offer that to her. He loved The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, as much as he might wish sometimes that he didn’t.

He had never intended to fall in love with Phryne, which he supposed made him just like every other poor sod who had done the same. But intentional or not, he had, and he knew he had, and he’d known it since that dreadful motorcar accident. And he couldn’t marry another woman knowing he didn’t love her, and even more knowing that he loved another. 

Perhaps his uncertainty showed on his face, because Concetta took a deep breath, then said, “First, there is something I need to make sure of, for myself.”

He wasn’t sure what she needed to make sure of, not at all, and he searched her face before he nodded. Whatever question she asked, he’d do his best to answer it. When she leaned in to kiss him, he was a little startled, but not surprised. She’d had an unhappy marriage the first time. She’d want to be sure her second marriage was one that both of them wanted.

Her lips were soft and her hand on the back of his neck was warm and caressing. He could smell a subtle floral perfume wafting from her as he returned her kiss. But it was no good. He knew it, and he was sure she knew it. He didn’t want the lips on his to be Concetta’s. He wanted them to be Phryne’s. 

She pulled back, but kept their foreheads touching, kept that warm hand on his neck, and he considered how to explain himself, how to excuse himself. He’d just been kissed by a wonderful, attractive woman and by all rights, he should have kissed her back with every bit of passion she had offered him. 

“You don’t need to say it,” she said compassionately, and then switched to Italian. His comprehension was better than it had been a year ago, but it was still not very good. He did think he heard “heart” in her phrase, though. When she translated for him, he knew he’d been right.

“Your heart is … taken.”

“I care for you,” he assured her earnestly and honestly. He had no intention of leading her on, hadn’t had any idea she cared for him to this level, and would never wish to hurt her. He wanted her to know that. He needed her to know that. “You deserve to be happy.”

She switched back to Italian, and he thought she might be reassuring him of something. How strange, that in this situation she was reassuring him, when he ought to be apologizing to her or comforting her.

“I will be fine,” she told him, and he believed her. Concetta was strong, stronger than most women ever could have been. She had needed to be, to survive what she had. 

“You know, Roberto will hang,” she continued, which he knew was important to her. She needed to close that door in her life. “And when I marry again, it will be for love. But you are taken.”

Her tone was final, accepting, but a little sad, and he could understand it. He was a little sad as well, so when she sat back, he just looked at her silently. What could he say?

“Here,” she said, and pulled the bottle of wine over.

“Oh, no, thank you,” he immediately said, thinking she was going to give him more, but he thought it was best if he left. She’d want to be alone, maybe have a cry, and he needed to consider whether he’d just made the smartest or the stupidest decision of his life. 

“No, it is not for us,” she assured him, and pushed the bottle of wine into his hands. “Take it. Take it to Miss Fisher. Tell her.”

“I - uh -,” he stumbled, and her smile changed again, so that he didn’t try to finish the sentence he hadn’t really started in the first place. He’d been about to say that he didn’t think Phryne cared, or at least not the way he cared about her.

“She cares. I see her watching you. I see her standing up to my father and Roberto for you, with her golden gun. That is where you belong. Go. Tell her. Take the wine, with my best wishes.”

Concetta sounded as sure of herself now as she had been when she said she would be fine, and he found himself smiling shyly and then being helped into his coat before leaving with the wine.

And now he was standing in front of Phryne’s house with the wine. He wasn’t sure how he’d got here in so many ways, but here he was, and he knew Concetta had been right. 

This was where he belonged.


End file.
